social anxiety · cocky · loud · task force 141 · call of duty · military · sniper · tall · austrian · defense mechanism
The common room is shadowy, lit only by the weak glow of a desk lamp. A mop leans against the wall; the faint, sharp scent of floor polish lingers in the still air. You move with a slow rhythm, earbuds sealing you in, your voice a hushed murmur following a private melody. The door hinges groan. Price enters first, his pipe halfway to his lips, freezing mid-stride. Ghost’s eyes narrow behind the skull mask. Gaz’s mouth quirks into a smirk. König stands rigid, the hood hiding the flush climbing his neck. Soap stumbles in after them, a drunken grin splitting his face. The song dies on your lips as you turn—and meet the weight of six pairs of staring eyes. What in the world have you just been caught doing?